


Love Letters and Music (I Remember You)

by jade_lil



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Community: arashi_exchange, Drama & Romance, Fanfiction, M/M, Ohmiya - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 12:35:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8286082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jade_lil/pseuds/jade_lil
Summary: AU. Ohno is one of Japan’s popular singers who only sing song compositions sent to him by an anonymous composer. But everything is about to change when Ohno’s management forces him to meet a new composer to work with him on his new album.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this year's arashi-exchange for the lovely, smile_arigatou

*+*  
  
  
Ohno Satoshi looked up from the stacks of demo CDs he’d been checking out for the past half hour to find his manager, Sakurai Sho, staring expectantly down at him.   
  
“Excuse me?”   
  
Sho gave him a look – one that was of pure indulgence and a little bit of something he couldn’t place his finger on; at other times, Ohno would be grateful for it, for Sho’s seemingly never-ending patience when it came to him, but not today.   
  
“You heard me,” Sho said, levelly.   
  
“I did,” Ohno returned, frowning; “I just thought maybe I heard it wrong,” he said. “Did you say something about us meeting a new composer?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Why?” he asked; Sho looked taken aback at the abruptness of his question, knowing that for one, he never really cared about how they want his singing career managed so long as he got to sing the songs he liked, the songs he chose himself.   
  
For years now, Ohno had only been singing songs by this one, anonymous composer, whose song compositions were sent through Ohno’s agency, addressed personally to him.   
  
It was just a coincidence that he’d been there when the first demo CD arrived because if he wasn’t, he was sure it wouldn’t have reached him. Nakai – his manager back then, was a certified asshole and Ohno knew the jerk would have trashed the package without even letting Ohno know about it.  
  
At first, he honestly wasn’t sure what to do about the song. He was worried to even let his management know about its existence because they’d sure tell him to either ignore it or worse, throw it out. Ohno resolved on keeping it, almost forgetting about it completely, at least until another Demo song arrived in the office for him two weeks later.    
  
This time, Ohno’s curiosity over it won. Later that night when he went home with the second demo CD in hand, he purposely sat himself down and checked both demos out, finding himself honestly mesmerized before he was even done listening to the first one. The first demo song - _Gimmick Game,_ even made him choreograph the song in his head spot on. It was so damn catchy, the words downright sexy that right then and there, he decided to place a call to Nakai, requesting him to arrange a meeting with their management’s executives the next day.   
  
And then the rest as they said was history.  
  
Weeks later, four more demo CDs arrived. Ohno was in the middle of recording the song Gimmick Game, with an additional two coupling songs from different composers. The single was due for release the month after.  
  
The next four demo CDs he received, as usual, only had Ohno’s name and company address on them, but no details, not even one, about who they came from, just from which location the package was sent. Ohno had spent a fortune hiring someone to investigate who the anonymous sender was, but even then they weren’t able to find anything.  
  
The sender – and even now this amused Ohno to a fault, obviously preferred to remain anonymous. And this was despite the glaring fact that his songs all made it to the top of the Oricon charts on the same day they were released. Ohno was certain it meant that it was the composer’s own decision to retain his anonymity, because there was no way he could _not_ have known that his songs were topping all known music charts in Japan and have somehow accidentally made a certain down-under singer famous.  
  
“Management order,” Sho said. “Said it would be better to try something else, something that’s not your usual. It’s for your upcoming anniversary album so they want someone else, someone who is apparently the industry’s best composer to date to work with you this time around.”  
  
He waved a hand at Sho and took his attention back to the stacks of CDs he was checking out earlier. He just received one a few days ago, and the ones he received few weeks back he hadn’t listened to yet so he decided he would today. He hadn’t gotten around checking them, after all, since he’d been too busy with his CM filming and magazine photoshoot commitments.  
  
“I have enough material for the upcoming album, you of all people should know that,” he said, pointing to the CDs he was checking out and the ones that were arranged methodically at the shelves. He had more or less a hundred songs, half of those he still hadn’t gotten around to check properly and he knew that most of them were good enough to make it into recording.   
  
“And I don’t need a new composer,” he added, dismissively, “Tell them that.”  
  
“Believe me, I already did,” Sho said; he wouldn’t have  believed him if it wasn’t for the fact that Sho knew him well enough to know that ever since he’d recorded and released the very first song the anonymous composer sent him, he’d long stopped accepting song compositions from anyone else. “And I’m telling you that on this one, their decision is final. They want you to work with this composer, at least for this album, or they won’t let you release anything.”  
  
He kept quiet; Sho did too, but he had his gaze locked on Sho’s and he knew that the cacophony of emotion flitting across his face was answer enough. It was always difficult for him to verbalize what he wanted, and for so long, he just went with whatever his management (and Sho) asked him to, but never when it came to his song choices.  
  
That part was all him; that was the only thing he demanded from them, after all, that he’d get to sing what he wanted, work on the material he chose himself regardless if the producers or the record label would end up releasing it or not.   
  
“As if I ever cared what they want,” he muttered, more out of spite than anything. It wasn’t like he didn’t see this coming, because he did – Sho had told him more than once, at least ever since the release of his third album, that he shouldn’t expect their Management to be always this accommodating. One of these days, he would a release a song that might not get popular, and, as should be expected, Management would most likely step forward to take every possible precautionary measure to steer his career back on track.  
  
Even if it meant taking the one thing – this privilege he’d been given ever since he debuted, _away_.    
  
“I know you don’t, Satoshi-kun, but as long as you are under contract, you know you are expected to do as they say,” Sho pointed out. “I’m sorry.”  
  
He shook his head and gathered the demo CDs in a pile, placing them back to the box Sho had stashed them to before.   
  
“You have nothing to apologize for, Sho-kun,” he said, forcing a smile. “None of this is your fault, okay? I know you’d have fought them in my behalf if you could but as you said, as long as I’m under their contract, there is nothing I could do but obey. And that’s what we will do for now,” he said. One day, soon, he’d have to sit down to think things through, to revise and revisit, but for now, it would have to wait. “When do they want me to meet this new composer again?”  
  
To his credit, Sho looked not the least bit pleased. “As soon as possible.”  
  
His eyebrows twitched at that. “When?”   
  
Sho tilted his head a little. “In an hour,” Sho said. “I was told he is already on his way to the office.”  
  
“But I thought I have rehearsals –“  
  
“It has been cancelled.”  
  
He resisted the urge to scoff at that and instead, shook his head and pulled himself up. “Fine.”  
  
Sho looked surprised. “Okay? That’s it? You’re not going to try and bite my head off for this?” Sho said, obviously meaning it as a joke because Ohno never once did that. Even when he was angry. Not to Sho, at least.  
  
He chuckled. “I don’t plan on making your life harder than it already is, Sho-kun,” he said, “So let’s go.”  
  
“Thank you, Satoshi-kun.” Sho said, pointing at the door. He sighed and marched towards it, heart heavy in his chest.  
  
  
*+*  
  
“I heard he worked with Utada Hikaru-san on her last album,” Sho told him once they were out of the van and on their way to meet the composer. Ohno tried to recall what her carrier single was but he couldn’t, shrugging it off eventually. Well, it wasn’t like he had much free time to listen to other artists’ songs anyway, and even if he did, most of his free time were spent either at sea or doing art.   
  
“Her album stayed in the Oricon chart for seven consecutive weeks, three weeks at number one.”  
  
“Not bad,” he mumbled absently; he knew he should at least pay attention but it was difficult when his heart wasn’t in it and he was too busy reminding himself to at least be professional enough in front of the composer when they meet.   
  
For one, it wasn’t the man’s fault he’d been hired to work with Ohno, and vice versa, or that the only reason Ohno agreed to meet him was because his management forced him to. And as Sho had said, it would be better to keep his mouth shut for now, let his management do what they think was right. Ohno’s plan to revise and revisit would have to be put on hold until then.  
  
“Heard he’s good-looking, too,” Sho added just as they rounded the hall. He chuckled and shook his head. Sometimes, he didn’t know if it was a blessing that his manager, apart from the fact that they were almost of the same age, knew almost everything about Ohno – his odd hobbies, the things that ticked him off, and most especially his sexual preference.   
  
But he guessed it was okay; he pretty much knew enough embarrassing stuff about Sho, after all, so it was just fair that Sho should, too.  
  
“Maybe I could ask him for his number so you can, I don’t know, call him and convince him to back off? You could do it, yes?”  
  
“I could,” Sho said, smirking. “But I won’t. Sorry, Satoshi-kun.” Sho apologized, though he sounded not the least bit apologetic. Ohno felt wholly justified for hitting him on the shoulder hard for it in retaliation.  
  
“Keep your mouth shut, then.” He said, without heat.  
  
Only a few paces away was the conference room, and adjacent to it was the small recording studio, mostly used for spot on demo recording. Sho took the lead and nodded at him as he reached for the door and opened it wider for him.  
  
  
*+*  
  
To say that he was surprised upon meeting the composer was an understatement.  
  
For one, Matsumoto Jun didn’t quite look like one. In fact, if Ohno was going to be completely honest about it, he could have pegged the other man for a movie star, no kidding. Ohno had a hard time taking his gaze away from the man, from his perfectly styled hair to his obviously tailored two-piece elegant suit.   
  
“I was told you needed new materials for your upcoming anniversary album,” Matsumoto Jun said with an air of an aristocrat. Or a person who just knew what he could do and was not afraid to flaunt it. Ohno was honestly a little terrified of him. “Is that correct, Ohno-san?”   
  
_I don’t_ , Ohno wanted to say, but Sho was nodding at him from the opposite corner, like a parent nudging his child. As if reminding him verbally beforehand that he should refrain from trying to fuck things up wasn’t enough, Sho had to be there to remind Ohno of it personally, too.  
  
Ohno tried not to act like he was considering requesting Matsumoto to kick his manager out and instead turned his gaze away, hoping he could tune Sho out.  
  
“Ohno-san?”  
  
“Yeah,” he said, pausing, considering his answer for a minute before he settled on, “Yes, I believe so, Matsumoto-san.” he answered, meeting Matsumoto’s gaze.   
  
“Though I suppose we have to agree on certain things before we proceed, yes?” Matsumoto asked. Ohno nodded. “And that’s -?”  
  
Ohno held Matsumoto’s gaze steadily. “You’d have to let me sample the songs first, if that’s okay.” he said, dimly aware of the obvious shift in Matsumoto’s expression the second the words were out of his mouth. He was also vaguely aware of Sho waving frantically from the corner, obviously trying to get his attention and probably just waiting for him to glance his way so he could ask him what the fuck he thought he was doing but he figured Sho could wait his turn.   
  
Of course Ohno knew, what he was saying, and saying it was indeed reason enough to get himself (and his poor manager) in trouble but to be honest, that was the least of his concerns. He agreed to meet this new composer on the grounds that his management wanted him to work on new materials for his next album, and that Matsumoto was good enough to make it happen, so he was going to make Matsumoto prove it. He wanted to make sure Matsumoto was as good as they said he was by checking his compositions first.  
  
“No problem,” Matsumoto said. “I already have a few tracks prepared just in case. But they’re in my studio; I didn’t think you would ask me for a demo song on our first meeting so I didn’t bring any with me.”  
  
“That’s okay,” he agreed before finally giving Sho the attention he’d been asking for. “We have nothing else scheduled today, right, Sakurai-san?” Sho barely able to nod his head in answer and he already had his gaze shifted back to Matsumoto. “We can go with you. If you’re free, that is.”  
  
“I’m not the artist here, Ohno-san,” Matsumoto said with a grin, and the genuineness of it honestly eased Ohno’s tension slightly. “So it goes without saying that I’m not as busy as you are.” Matsumoto stood as he said this, and Ohno followed suit. Then he turned to Sho, his phone already in hand. “Give me your number and I’ll send you the address of my studio. You can follow me there.”  
  
Sho simply tilted his head and Ohno couldn’t have been prouder of Sho when Sho said, “Thank you, Matsumoto-san, but I already have it.”  
  
Matsumoto raised his perfectly groomed eyebrows and grinned. “Let’s go, then.”  
  
  
*+*  
  
They made it to Matsumoto’s studio under an hour later. They parked at the front and both him and Sho realized they stopped in front of a building, an apartment complex. When they hopped out of the car, Matsumoto was already waiting for them at the entrance.   
  
“Here?” he whispered under his breath to Sho, who looked equally perplexed.   
  
“Looks like it,” Sho said, at the same time Matsumoto stepped forward and gestured them in. “He probably lives here too, I think.”  
  
Matsumoto probably didn’t, judging with how high-profile he looked but that was something Ohno figured he shouldn’t say. “Probably,” he agreed instead, as he and Sho followed Matsumoto inside.  
  
  
*+*  
  
They were led into a relatively big-sized apartment three elevators up. Unsurprisingly, it was a studio-converted one. From the outside, the building sure didn’t look like it was housing one like this, but it was nonetheless impressive. Inside, it was even more so.   
  
“We bought three units here and converted two into this studio,” Matsumoto explained as he led them inside the automated glass door. They were first ushered into what seemed to be the live room – the recording room itself with the isolation booth, and the control room beyond it. There were music equipments everywhere – the usual stuff found inside a recording studio but the equipments here looked far better (and obviously newer) than the ones Ohno was used to.   
  
But the grand piano sitting at the far corner was what grabbed his attention the second he stepped inside, the battered red acoustic guitar leaning against it as was the stick of a man sprawled on his ass on the floor, scrawling something on the notebook spread in front of him.   
  
He also didn’t seem to notice he had company.  
  
“Nino, I brought the artist and his manager with me,” Matsumoto said, loud enough to startle the man from his writing. He looked up, briefly nodding at Matsumoto before he was taking his gaze to Sho, then to Ohno. Their gazes meet for about a second or two before the man was ducking down to grab his belongings in haste. “They’re here to check out the demos.” Matsumoto added and Ohno watched the man nod his head slightly at them before he disappeared into a door leading to the control room.   
  
He and Sho looked at Matsumoto questioningly. “That was Ninomiya-san,” Matsumoto said, “He’s the technical guy,” pointing at the control room where the technical guy, Nino, disappeared into. “He’ll prepare the sample songs for you, so, shall we go?”  
  
Ohno figured this was what he came here for anyway. “Lead the way, Matsumoto-san, please.”  
  
  
*+*  
  
“Is there something wrong, Ohno-san?” Matsumoto asked, sounding vaguely worried. Ohno continued frowning at the lyric sheet, more particularly at the tiny letter initials stamped at the bottom of the page.   
  
This was the second song Matsumoto made him listen to and to be honest, he liked it. He didn’t think he would but there was something about the melody that made him think it was composed specifically for him. And the words – Ohno couldn’t quite place it but there was something vaguely familiar about them too.  
  
He put the earphones back on as he squinted at the sheet and Matsumoto gestured to the technical guy through the glass wall. The music started playing and Ohno hummed the words softly under his breath, following the melody, heart beating unusually fast in his chest. Something nagged at the back of Ohno’s mind, but he didn’t think it was appropriate to say it, now, especially when he wasn’t even sure he was right.   
  
His eyes darted downwards to where the tiny letters were again; meaningful in a way Ohno hadn’t thought before, at least not after he saw them here, now.   
  
He snatched the earphones off and motioned for Matsumoto to scoot closer; he couldn’t help it, he was itching to know – waiting until Matsumoto was close enough to see. He looked up, then, sure that Matsumoto was looking, he pointed his fingertip at the letter initials marked at the bottom of the page.   
  
“Do this letters mean anything?” he asked, carefully. It was difficult not to raise suspicion, especially with what he was asking but he knew that if he didn’t, if he kept quiet, he’d go crazy. He was already cataloguing the number of times he’d seen the same thing, or at least something that looked similar to it, from which sample song and where and which box he made Sho put it.   
  
Matsumoto considered it for a moment before he nodded. “Yes,” he said, and Ohno felt entirely like his heart was about to jump out of his chest. “They’re my initials,” Matsumoto said, pointing.  “ _MJ_. Matsumoto Jun.”  
  
  
*+*  
  
They left the studio an hour and a half later, with the copy of the sample songs (there were three of them) and their corresponding lyric sheets, and the promise to call Matsumoto the day after.   
  
As soon as he and Sho were in the car, Sho was immediately talking.   
  
“Okay, what the hell was that?” Sho grunted, ignoring his lame attempt at keeping his thoughts to himself. He was so lost, but also kind of not and damn it all if he wasn’t the most confused individual in the planet right now he’d rejoice, but it was hard to think of it when there was this unfamiliar urgency thrumming at the back of his  head, so strong Ohno felt it vibrating across his skin. “You looked like you’ve seen a ghost back there. What the hell happened, Satoshi-kun?”  
  
He didn’t know how to explain it without sounding like a complete lunatic but he was also certain that if there was anyone who would understand this, it’d be Sho.   
  
But for now… “Let’s go home,” he said as he buckled himself up almost as if on autopilot. “And I’ll explain it there.”  
  
Sho looked him over once and probably saw something that convinced the other man he was serious. “Fine,” Sho said. “Fine, let’s go.”  
  
  
*+*  
  
“Satoshi-kun, wait,” Sho struggled to keep up as Ohno half-jogged, half-ran towards his apartment, his keys already in one hand and the other clutching the envelope containing the sample songs he requested from Matsumoto. He was shaking, in anticipation and something else, not bothering waiting for Sho to keep up as he unlocked the door the second he reached the front of his apartment, throwing it wide open and sprinting the rest of the way inside.   
  
Sho found him in his makeshift studio a little over ten minutes later, while he was carefully putting down the box containing the very first batch of Demo CDs he received from his anonymous composer. The boxes were arranged according to the dates he received them (thanks to Sho and his awesome organizational skills) so he was able to find the one he was looking for easily. The lyrics sheets where there too, and Ohno gently and very carefully pulled one out, then spread it open on top of the coffee table there along with one of the sheets he took from Matsumoto.  
  
The second his gaze found it, he knew deep in his gut that he was right.  
  
“Sho-kun, look,” he said, pointing at the sheet he received about five years ago, one from the very first batch, more particularly at the letter initials stamped on the bottom, and then at the one he got from Matsumoto earlier.   
  
“Holy crap,” Sho muttered, and Ohno swore he pretty much had the same reaction earlier. Holy crap, indeed. “This… a-are they the same?” Sho asked. Well it was pretty obvious that was the case here. Sho turned to him then, his brows knitted together. “Jesus, are you thinking that Matsumoto-san is… is the same person sending you these songs?” Sho asked, sounding completely baffled.  
  
Ohno slumped on his ass on the floor and stared at both papers, stunned. He’d be honest, that was his first thought too. But now that he’d seen both, he wasn’t too sure anymore.   
  
He took the other sheet - the old one, and squinted at the letter initials printed there. Sure, the letters M and J are there, printed permanently on the sheet the same thing the chords on the sheet were, but there were smudges of two more letter initials scrawled over the letters M and J, or more particularly, scrawled connected to both letters though not as clearly as the first two, as if they were simply added there by a pen or a pencil afterwards.  
  
“Sho-kun, tell me,” he hummed without taking his gaze away from the lyric sheet, finger absently tracing the now too faint letters connected to the M and the J. “Do we have any information about Matsumoto-san when he first started writing songs? Like, who was the first artist he worked with, how he became famous in the song writing business.”  
  
“Are you asking me?” Sho said; Ohno didn’t even have to look up to know that Sho looked sorely affronted. He could very well hear the _Geez, Satoshi-kun, and here I thought you knew me better than that_ even though Sho hadn’t really said it.   
  
“I’m asking you.” he parroted.  
  
He didn’t even need to wait long because then Sho was talking, detailing Matsumoto’s profile like he was simply reading the information directly from the man’s resume. Ohno listened intently; bypassing those details he didn’t need and was waiting for that particularly important one to come.  
  
When it did, Ohno held out a finger, cutting Sho off quickly to ask, “Wait, you said 2011,” he said, frowning, heart beating crazy fast despite himself.   
  
“Yes,” Sho agreed, looking thoughtful, “it was in 2011 when Matsumoto-san had his big break by writing the carrier single for KissMyFt, only a month after the establishment of his studio. It was around June that year, why?”   
  
June 2011, Matsumoto Jun opened his recording studio, his very first client being Johnnys Entertainment’s newest, and fast rising boy group then, KissMyFt. A few months after, Ohno received his first demo CD from his anonymous composer, using the similar lyric sheet, but sent from an unknown location. The very first single he released from the anonymous composer, Gimmick Game, the one that topped every single countdown chart in Japan, was sent to him around August of that year too.     
  
Few months difference, Ohno thought, his mind reeling. It couldn’t have been purely coincidental, could it?  
  
“Change of plans,” he muttered, deciding on the spot that he was not going to wait here for answers. Folding the old lyric sheet and putting it back inside the envelope he took it out from, he slipped it inside the one he got from Matsumoto. He stood up from his sprawl on the floor and looked at Sho with purpose. “Call Matsumoto-san again, Sho-kun. Tell him we’re heading back to the studio. I need to talk to him again.”  
  
“Huh? But I thought you said –“  
  
“I said change of plans, “ he repeated, “Call Matsumoto-san and tell him I need to see him again,” he paused, holding the envelope up with shaking fingers. “There’s something I need to confirm with him, and there’s no way I can wait until tomorrow to do it.”  
  
“It’s about your composer, isn’t it?” Sho asked, though with how he looked at Ohno with those big, hopeful eyes of his, Ohno was certain Sho already knew. “You think that after five long years of waiting and waiting, you’ve finally found him, don’t you?”  
  
“Yes,” he breathed, wondering if he sounded as hopeful as he felt. He took the first few steps towards the door, knowing Sho was just right behind him. Just like always.   
  
“Let’s hope to God that this time, I’m right.”  
  
  
*+*  
  
  
“So, are you saying you don’t recognize this?” he said, pointing. The lyric sheets are spread wide in front of them, the same way he did earlier back in his apartment. The only difference was that right now, he was showing them to the person he suspected was the anonymous composer who’d been sending him songs since almost the same time he debuted or if he wasn’t, someone he knew obviously was. “That these papers don’t belong to you? See, they both have your initials, don’t they?” darting his fingers between the two papers.   
  
Sure, the older one was a little torn around the edges, its color changed, but it was obvious to anyone with eyes that the two are the same. At least the papers were; the written words, though, and whoever did it was an entirely different matter altogether.   
  
There was an awkward pause, and Ohno would be lying if he said he didn’t just held his breath right then, waiting for Matsumoto’s answer.   
  
“Sure, they do,” Matsumoto agreed, low, under his breath, but Ohno could already hear the _but_ coming. Matsumoto raised his head to meet his eyes. “But if you’re asking me if I was the one who wrote this, I’m sorry.” Matsumoto said, pushing the other lyric sheet forward to point out what was already obvious. “It wasn’t me.” Matsumoto added.   
  
“I can see that,” he agreed, with a slight nod of his head. Sure, the papers were the same, even the letter initials printed on them which made Ohno believe that they came from the same source. The only problem here was, the hand-written lyrics on the one Ohno received from his anonymous composer years and years before sure didn’t look the slightest bit similar to the one that Matsumoto owned.   
  
Of course they didn’t. Matsumoto’s own are printed directly on the paper, after all.   
  
“But you agree with me that the papers are the same, yes? They’re yours, right?”  
  
“Sure,” Matsumoto said, though this time, Ohno detected something different in the way he said the words, like he was trying to be too careful lest he would give something away. Ohno wasn’t sure what to make of it.   
  
“They look pretty much the same to me, too, but the thing is…” Matsumoto paused here, eyes thoughtful. When he met Ohno’s gaze again, Ohno knew something in his expression shifted.  “Well, I can’t say for sure that this is ours,” Matsumoto held the paper up for further inspection. “See, we have this paper sheet printed specifically for us but you know how it is with these things. Papers, clothes, designs – everything could be easily duplicated nowadays so it shouldn’t come as a surprise that someone could have gotten the design, reproduced it and used it.”  
  
Well, okay, that was a possibility Ohno didn’t think of before but it certainly had him thinking now. But still, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that he was so close to finding out who the anonymous composer was, but feeling and knowing it were two completely different things.   
  
But staring at Matsumoto now and knowing that he wasn’t the one Ohno had been looking for brought him some kind of relief he didn’t know he needed, wanted, until he heard Matsumoto confirmed it.   
  
It made him think about that one night - months before he was scouted by one of the agency’s talent coordinator - he spent tangled around a person he met earlier that evening in that particular bar he used to perform before. The memory ached as he stared at Matsumoto’s face, glad but equal-parts sad that Matsumoto wasn’t the one he was looking for, because then it meant he was back in square one.  
  
Somehow, Ohno had this stupid notion that the same guy he was with that night was the same guy sending him these song compositions. And it wasn’t unfounded, no, because the reason for this he always carried with him no matter where he went, the evidence of it, folded very carefully and tucked safely inside his wallet, in between his family’s photo and his youngest niece’s latest one.  
  
“So this…” he said, pointing at the old sheet he brought with him. “Is not yours.” He said; it was more of a statement rather than a question. Matsumoto nodded.  
  
“That’s not mine,” Matsumoto parroted. “I’m the one who composed it.” Matsumoto added. It wasn’t at all a complete denial, not really, at least on Matsumoto’s part, especially if he truly wasn’t the person behind the compositions. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to try and ask.  
  
“You wouldn’t possibly know who it might be, then?” he asked, hopeful. It wasn’t like he wanted to point fingers, but there was no way he could leave this without making sure he’d covered every ground, that he’d asked what could be asked.  
  
“No,” Matsumoto said, firm and sure, though Ohno swore his eyes was saying something else. “No, Ohno-san, I’m sorry.”  
  
  
*+*  
  
They drove back to his apartment in silence, Ohno’s gaze kept straying out the window every now and then without really seeing anything. Sho was equally quiet beside him, just throwing Ohno occasional stares through the mirror when he thought Ohno wasn’t looking.  
  
When they reached the apartment, however, Sho’s patience waned drastically. Especially when the first thing Ohno did was to walk straight to his makeshift studio without another word, where Sho found him moments later staring at the lyric sheet of the song he took with him earlier when they  went back to Matsumoto’s studio.   
  
“Is there something you’re not telling me, Satoshi-kun?” Sho asked. He sounded worried.   
  
Ohno had to forcefully look up from the lyric sheet he had spread across the coffee table despite his reluctance, and shook his head. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to tell Sho, it’s just that he wasn’t really sure what to say, or where to begin.   
  
Sho, thankfully, didn’t need him to. He was pretty good at catching on things like this, after all.   
  
“It’s about the composer, isn’t it?” Sho asked. He looked up. “No, not Matsumoto-san,” Sho clarified before he did so himself. “The other one; the one who’d been sending you those compositions.” Sho said. It’s obvious that Sho knew it too, the reason why Ohno had to go back to the studio and talk to Matsumoto.   
  
He sighed. “I thought I already found him,” he mumbled, feeling a little defeated. It shouldn’t feel like this, really; he’d almost accepted the fact that he was never going to find out who that person was, and why he was doing this, but his meeting with Matsumoto earlier changed that. Suddenly, there were these clues and hints he didn’t think existed until he saw them, and then the blinding urge to know who the person behind these songs came rushing back the way he thought it never would.   
  
“Guess I was wrong,” he said, “I shouldn’t have expected finding him would be so easy. He managed to keep himself hidden for five years now, after all.”   
  
Sho looked a little confused, and well, Ohno couldn’t exactly blame him. Everything about this was confusing, after all –the fact alone that someone with the anonymous’ composer’s caliber would want to keep his anonymity despite knowing (and Ohno was sure the composer was aware of this, that his songs were nothing but a continuous stream of hits ever since Ohno released the very first Demo CD he received) he was rocking the entirety of the Japanese Music Industry.   
  
“I feel like I’m missing something here,” Sho said. “Like some big chunk of withheld information consisting of fated meetings and unforeseen separation.”  
  
He snorted. He honestly didn’t expect that one, not from Sho, at least, but it was honestly like Sho just literally hit the nail on the head with that guess and it was somewhat hilariously accurate.   
  
He pointed at the familiar letter initials printed on the paper with his fingertip, his eyes equally tracing the too-faint letters connected to them and feeling vaguely like they’re more than just letters. Ohno knew they meant something else, something more, and it was up to him to find out what it was.   
  
“Help me find this guy and maybe I’ll tell you,” he said, looking up.   
  
“Find this guy, how?”  
  
He wasn’t a hundred percent sure but something told him that if there was somewhere he needed to start looking, it should be there.   
  
They’re going back to Matsumoto’s studio, whether Ohno liked his song compositions or not.  
  
“Call Matsumoto-san and tell him to schedule my first recording the day after tomorrow,” he told Sho, “I have a feeling he knows something.”

 

*+*  
  
  
Ohno’s plans included snooping around Matsumoto’s studio while he was being distracted by Sho.   
  
Of course it was easier said than done, what with the fact that both he and Sho have found it difficult to distract Matsumoto when he was in full work mode. They realized this as soon as Matsumoto had pumped enough caffeine into his system, and was working like a well-oiled machine soon after.  
  
They arrived at the studio more than half an hour earlier on the first day, expecting anyone but Matsumoto himself to let them in the door the moment they buzzed in. Surprised, he and Sho simply managed a ‘ _what the hell?’_ look shared between them behind Matsumoto as the other man let them inside the studio’s door, vaguely hearing the other man grumbling something about coffee and people coming in too early under his breath.   
  
The early morning scowl didn’t escape Ohno’s attention, too.  
  
They were led in first to the Control Room, where he and Sho were offered each a cup of one of the fanciest tasting coffee Ohno ever had in his life. Apparently, Matsumoto and his crew (at least the ones Ohno was able to meet so far) loved coffee as much as he and Sho did.   
  
“I believe you already met Ninomiya-san yesterday?” Matsumoto gestured to the familiar-looking stick of a man sitting at one of the chairs there with his headphones on and fiddling on some buttons or something.  They didn’t, but he figured it wasn’t all that important, wasn’t worth mentioning. The guy, Ninomiya, didn’t bother looking up from what he was doing either. Matsumoto seemed to be used to this because then he was turning his attention to another person sitting there, a chair away from Ninomiya.   
  
“And this is Aiba-san,” Matsumoto introduced the taller guy, who immediately sprang up from his chair to greet them with a smile and an enthusiastic handshake to match it. “He will be assisting us – well, specifically Ninomiya-san – here, while you, Ohno-san, does your thing there.” Matsumoto pointed at the glass wall, specifically at the recording booth beyond it.  
  
To this, Ninomiya at least raised his head enough to acknowledge them with a slight tilt of his head, though he was still not directly looking at Ohno. It felt strange. Ohno ended up wondering what he could have done wrong to deserve such sour treatment.  
  
“Aiba Masaki, at your service,” the taller guy beamed at him and Sho, introducing himself yet again. Ohno barely remembered paying attention when Sho subtly elbowed him on the side, realizing he was staring at the other quiet guy thoughtfully. “I’m in-charge of the less complicated things around here such as minor cable repairs and making sure that glass right there –“ he pointed at the wall separating the Control Room and the Recording Room, “is as shiny and stain-free as it should be.”   
  
Sho snorted beside him as he muttered, jokingly and not quite-lowly, “Seems like a tough job to handle, eh, Aiba-san?”  
  
The guy winked at him playfully; Ohno liked him instantly. “The toughest, I assure you,” Aiba said, sounding very serious, at least until Matsumoto came over and whacked Aiba in the head with a folder. Ohno found himself laughing despite himself, eyes glazing over that Ninomiya guy absently.  
  
“Perhaps we should go and start the recording, while we’re still young and able?” Matsumoto said, rolling his eyes good-naturedly at Aiba, who was still rubbing his abused head in feigned hurt, before sitting himself next to Ninomiya again with a grin. “Whenever Ohno-san is ready, of course.”  
  
He nodded and gestured Matsumoto to lead the way. “Yeah,” he said, meeting Sho’s eyes briefly. “Yeah, let’s do this.”  
  
  
*+*  
  
Where Ohno expected the recording would take ages, it didn’t. Somehow, after the few minor adjustments on the way he sang the first few verses of the song Matsumoto chose himself – a slow-beat, kind of jazzy and sexy, _Naked,_ – the recording all in all went by smoothly. Ohno didn’t even realize he was done, until he heard the assistant technician’s breathy voice, Aiba, congratulating him in his ear.   
  
“Off to a good start, Ohno-san,” Aiba said  in his ear before Ohno took his headphones off. Through the glass, he spied Aiba waving at him through it. He waved back as if on cue, and somehow found his gaze straying from Aiba to Ninomiya, found himself watching the other technician avidly and laughing softly to himself when he saw Ninomiya chucking something at Aiba’s head.   
  
Matsumoto, thankfully, was there to take his attention away from the two. “Okay, let’s do the playback check…Nino, on your cue, yeah?” Matsumoto prompted, gesturing him to put his headphones back on. Ohno kept his gaze on Ninomiya, or at least to the part of his face Ohno could see from the distance, to his hand raised in the air, for a countdown. “Ready when you are, Ohno-san.”  
  
  
*+*  
  
  
Three days and only four songs later, Ohno was edgy.   
  
“You do know that it’s a completely bad idea, right?” Sho told him as they were wrapping up the day. Matsumoto was probably with the technicians doing final checks of the song Ohno recorded earlier. “He already told you he knew nothing, that he’s not the one you were looking for. So, you know, I don’t really get why you’re so damn insistent on snooping after the man’s properties just to know that your hunch is right. If he was your composer, I’m sure we would have known it by now, Satoshi-kun.”  
  
Ohno kept quiet. Of course he couldn’t refute what Sho had said, because it was true. Somehow, it was surprising that Matsumoto hadn’t noticed that Ohno was obviously onto something, especially whenever he was here in the studio. Ohno spent the entirety of the time he was here checking random things and asking about random questions, after all, or at least whenever he wasn’t in the live room, recording a song.   
  
Sure, he hadn’t found anything that would help him connect Matsumoto to his anonymous composer, but Ohno had a feeling that one day, soon, he would.   
  
He simply had to be absolutely patient to wait for it.   
  
As if on cue, Matsumoto’s voice was calling out for them. “Final checks is done, Ohno-san,” he said, “Shall I see you the day after tomorrow for the next one?”  
  
He glanced at his wrist watch – it was only quarter past twelve, just in time for lunch. Knowing that his next appointment wouldn’t be in a few hours at least, he decided he could at least treat Matsumoto and his crew to lunch.   
  
“Sho-kun, rain check on that late-night variety show appearance?” he asked, holding his hand up at Matsumoto.   
  
Sho didn’t even as much as blinked. “It’s confirmed, why?”  
  
“Time?”  
  
“We have to be there half an hour before the show airs. So, six-thirty-ish?”  
  
He nodded. “Plenty of time to go out and have lunch,” he said, then, turning towards the dividing glass wall, he waved at Matsumoto. “Matsumoto-san, you have anything scheduled for the next couple of hours?”  
  
Matsumoto didn’t even pause when he answered. “No,” then, like an afterthought, “Why?”  
  
He turned and nodded at Sho, who wasted no time at checking his phone and slapping it against his ear once he found what he was looking for.   
  
“Lunch,” he said, as Sho rambled on the phone with someone, obviously securing them of a restaurant reservation. “Let’s go?”  
  
Ohno heard an unfamiliar voice adding itself on the conversation. “What, his treat?” The question made him smile, really.   
  
“My treat,” he confirmed just as Aiba bounced from his seat with an excited yell. “I wonder if you guys like Chinese?”  
  
  
*+*  
  
  
“You’re not going to believe this guy,” Matsumoto jerked a thumb at Aiba, who looked suspiciously like he wanted to either slap his boss’ mouth with dim sum but was trying to hold himself from outright doing so. On the other hand, the other person, Ninomiya, seemed wholeheartedly devoted to his stir-fried noodles. Ohno couldn’t even see his face despite the close distance with the way Ninomiya almost had his face buried into his noodle bowl.   
  
Ohno forcefully tore his eyes away from Ninomiya, turning his attention back to Matsumoto.   
  
“So we had this one artist who came over once for a demo recording, right?” Matsumoto told them, outright ignoring Aiba’s whines of protests next to him. Ohno looked on with mild interest while next to him, Sho was busy inhaling the rest of his lunch. Ohno chuckled and left him to it. “Nino wasn’t there that time so this guy ended up doing Nino’s job, which was actually just the usual thing they do together.”  
  
“You’re never going to let me live this one down, are you? It was my first time doing it alone, okay? I was nervous.” Aiba grumbled. Matsumoto ignored him again. Next to them, Ohno saw the vague, little smile curving the side of Ninomiya’s mouth that he tried covering with the back of his hand.   
  
“Why? What did Aiba-san do?” he asked.   
  
“First, he couldn’t turn the music on,” Matsumoto said, grinning like the memory alone was enough to make him want to relive it, if only so he could torture Aiba further. “Then when he finally did, he almost rendered the artist permanently deaf with how loud the instrumental was. I thought he was going to sue us for almost damaging his eardrums on accident. We had to call Nino, who was in the middle of attending that music conference in Seoul to help us figure it out, it was hilarious.”  
  
He laughed, couldn’t not, especially when Aiba did, too. It was refreshing, watching them having fun. Ohno’s honestly not used to the company of funny people, despite the fact that his manager was one of the most hilarious people he knew. Perhaps it was the pressure of their jobs that made laughing, or simply finding something to be happy about a little difficult.   
  
Ohno wished he could change that.  
  
He opened his mouth to say something but it was halted with the sight of Ninomiya standing on his chair, face turned towards Matsumoto.  
  
“Why don’t you tell them about that Ikuta Toma incident? I still think that that one tops the Aiba Masaki’s Life Altering Failures best.” Ninomiya said, before he excused himself.  
  
  
*+*  
  
  
Not even five minutes later, he found himself trekking the way towards the restaurant’s bathroom.   
  
He left the other three laughing their guts out at Matsumoto’s Ikuta Toma story. Ohno had to leave the table to pee or he would have wet his pants if he didn’t at the hilarity of it all.  
  
He stepped inside the stall’s door and paused at the sound of someone humming a familiar tune.  
  
Ohno frowned, and then looked around, and, finding that the bathroom was mostly empty, he quietly followed the direction where the sound was coming from. He wasn’t even halfway there when the door to the last cubicle opened, and Ninomiya stepped out.   
  
Ohno wasn’t sure if he was imagining it but he swore Ninomiya’s eyes widened in surprise the moment he saw him. But it was gone before Ohno realized it.   
  
“Ninomiya-san.” He said with a slight tilt of his head.   
  
“Ohno-san,” Ninomiya returned the greeting with a bow, before he headed straight for the sink. Ohno watched him go, realizing he was acting like a total creep by staring; he had to literally command his feet to move towards the direction of the stall Ninomiya went out from.  
  
Unsurprisingly when he stepped out, Ninomiya wasn’t there anymore.   
  
  
*+*  
  
  
They’re on their way to TBS for that variety show appearance when he remembered to ask Sho. He couldn’t ask him earlier, in front of the others because he didn’t want to sound like a creep, even though he wasn’t exactly sure if the person humming the familiar tune he heard earlier in the  bathroom, of his song,  was Ninomiya.  
  
It took him a while to pin that down, what made it sound so familiar but when he did, he was even able to remember which song it was.   
  
It was his own song, after all.  
  
“ _Himitsu_?” Sho sounded and looked confused, though it could probably about something else entirely. Ohno was certain Sho had the dates of his singles and album releases memorized. “It was from your 2012 album, _One_. Why?”   
  
He frowned. Four years ago? He didn’t know it was that old. “2012? Are you sure?”   
  
“Positive,” Sho said, “That was the album you were due to release when I was appointed as your manager so I kind of remember it. I personally like _Yume de Ii Kara,_ though, just saying. Anyway, is there any particular reason you are asking?”  
  
He didn’t answer right away, not because he didn’t know what to say but because he knew he was allowing this thing to bother him more than he probably should. But he was, and it was honestly frustrating the crap out of him knowing that it wasn’t going to get better anytime soon. At least not until he get the answer he needed.  
  
“Any chance it had been on some radio station’s playlist these days?” he asked, knowing he was subtly avoiding the question by asking another one. He was also aware that he was being outright suspicious but Sho could very well deal with it for now. Ohno didn’t have the answers to all these confusing questions himself, after all.   
  
Sho shook his head. “Not that I’m aware of but there might be a slight possibility that it is?” Sho said, “I mean, some DJs do that, playing an older but widely popular song especially if it is being requested.” Sho paused here to look at him properly. “I don’t want to sound like I’m prying, Satoshi-kun, but again, may I ask you why you’re suddenly interested about whether or not your older songs are currently being played on the radio?”   
  
Well, he wasn’t sure about it himself, really. Maybe, he was just being paranoid; maybe it was that desire to meet the anonymous composer so badly that’s what’s driving him act like this. Like every little event meant something, even if they didn’t. It was frustrating the crap out of him too and he knew that if he didn’t find that person sooner or later, he’d go crazy.   
  
“It’s nothing,” he decided to spare Sho the trouble, keeping this to himself for now. There wasn’t much to say, anyway, and he was certain it was what Sho would tell him. He knew it. He didn’t have to hear someone else say it to his face again. “I just thought I heard that song earlier, while we were on our way to the restaurant,” he lied, already feeling bad about it. “I’m sorry; don’t mind me, Sho-kun.”  
  
Sho gave him a look that said he didn’t actually believe him but figured he might as well let it go.   
  
  
*+*  
  
Their next recording happened a week after. Ohno had been so busy with his other commitments that he barely had enough time to sleep, let alone think deeply about Matsumoto’s connection to his anonymous composer. But that didn’t mean he decided to let it go because he didn’t; he _couldn’t_.  
  
He was still at home and waiting for Sho to arrive when he found himself once again drawn to the lyric sheets he had taken to carrying around with him now– the one from his anonymous composer for his song, _Niji_ \- his favorite, and the one he got from Matsumoto. The difference was so obviously there – he could very easily spot them now, to be honest. And after the many times he looked them over for clues, aside from the ones that were just right there for him to see, there was nothing; there weren’t much to point out aside from the ones he’d seen first, or at least something new he could work on.  
  
He looked at the sheets, the two of them, hoping for something he hadn’t spotted before. Again, aside from the handwritten words on the one his anonymous composer sent him – the one from Matsumoto had the lyrics printed directly on the paper itself, after all – the only other thing that was suspicious enough was the seemingly connecting letters written next to the M and J initials at the bottom. Ohno had spent more than enough time checking it over and over, but still couldn’t figure it out.   
  
He was still squinting at the page when his phone vibrating on the tabletop startled him. It was Sho. He folded the sheets as carefully as he could manage it before he grabbed his phone and answered the call.  
  
  
*+*  
  
When they arrived at the studio, however, Matsumoto wasn’t there yet.   
  
“He had an urgent meeting with the executives of Universal Records,” Aiba told them when he buzzed them in, leading them to wait in Matsumoto’s office. “He said we could go ahead with the recording if you like. Nino will know what to do, anyway.”  
  
“Is the meeting going to take time?” Sho asked, already checking his planner. Ohno vaguely remembered they have to be somewhere in the afternoon, though he wasn’t sure if it was for another CM meeting or something else. “Satoshi-kun had to be at the launch of Softbank’s newest mobile handset before five.” Ah, that one.  
  
Aiba nodded. “I’m not sure but these meetings usually do. Last time, it took him more than half a day to finish. Shall we head on to the studio now, then?”   
  
He and Sho nodded. They might as well get on with it since the technicians are here anyway. “Yeah, we better get started. Matsumoto-san could check it later and ask for a re-recording if he doesn’t like how it turns out.”  
  
Aiba grinned at this. “Don’t worry, Ohno-san,” he said, “I’m pretty sure that’s not going to happen. Nino knows what to do, believe me. He works with Matsujun for so long now to know what Matsujun wants. Let’s go?”  
  
He gets on his feet just as Sho did and followed Aiba out.  
  
  
*+*  
  
Aiba seemed to be the one in-charged with the verbal instructions despite the fact that Ninomiya was the head technician. He realized this as soon as he went into the Recording Room and it was Aiba’s voice barking things in his ear. Though, it was also kind of annoying, especially when Aiba’s instructions mostly consisted with, “Nino wants you to slow it down for the intro, or Nino likes that one, it’s good he says.”   
  
Ohno wondered why the other man wouldn’t just tell Ohno that himself.   
  
It pissed him off for real but he tried not to show it. He just went with how they want him to sing the song, reminding himself of the fact that this was his job and that they were simply doing what was theirs.   
  
  
*+*  
  
An hour later, they’re done. Ohno’s never been so relieved to put the headphone down once Aiba signaled his okay, sighing to himself as he listened to Aiba barked an overly excited, “Good job, Ohno-san!” in his ear one last time.   
  
He was about to pull his headphones off when he heard Aiba humming another very familiar tune, this time, something Ohno didn’t even need to figure out long enough to know what it was because he knew.  
  
He scrambled to put the headphones back on, pressing it tightly into his ear and listening to Aiba, until it all became very clear what exactly he was listening to.  
  
It was one of the songs included in the batch that was sent to him a month ago, after all.  
  
  
*+*  
  
He couldn’t sit still. He was at Matsumoto’s office, waiting for Aiba, probably not even ten minutes later but it sure felt like he’d been there for hours. He was sure he just received the most suspicious stare of the century from Sho the second he told Sho if he could ask Aiba to Matsumoto’s office for a bit so they could talk, in private, at least before he and Sho leave the studio. It was obvious that Sho was itching to ask him what the fuck was going on with the way Sho had looked at him but Sho probably figured he wouldn’t answer anyway so Sho once again let it go.   
  
Ohno was sure it was just for now.  
  
When the door to Matsumoto’s office opened, he was immediately up on his feet before Aiba could properly greet him.   
  
“Ohno-san?” Aiba called from the door, bowing his head in greeting. “Sakurai-san said you wanted to talk to me?”   
  
He nodded, gesturing Aiba inside. “Aiba-san, I’m sorry for keeping you from your work,” he apologized, “This will just be quick, have a seat please.”  
  
Aiba looked evidently confused but did what he was asked; soon Aiba was sitting on the opposite chair he himself was sitting on, looking expectantly at him. “It’s okay,” Aiba said. “We were just doing the final checks but that’s fine. Nino can do that part better alone anyway. What is it you wanted to talk to me about again?”  
  
He heaved a sigh. It’s now or never. “I’m sorry if this will sound confusing, or weird, or something, but,” he paused, gathering the last of his courage to ask Aiba. “A while ago, I heard you humming something. A song.” He paused. Aiba simply blinked at him. It was evident in the way Aiba kept blinking at him that he didn’t know what he was being asked about.  
  
So he did what he probably wouldn’t in normal circumstances, humming the song loud enough for Aiba to hear and hoping it would trigger Aiba’s obviously short-lived memory. To his credit, Aiba seemed to perk up upon hearing it.  
  
“Oh, that song!” Aiba exclaimed. Ohno found himself absently reaching for his wallet, but stopped short when Aiba followed it with, “I don’t even know what it is, ha ha ha. I just heard it this morning when I came to wake Nino-chan. You heard it too, then? Quite catchy, yeah? I wonder if it’s another song he’s working on for Matsujun. He’s so good with music and lyrics arrangements, you see? And he’s the technical guy too. He’s so talented, our Nino-chan.”  
  
To say that he was stunned was an understatement. He didn’t know what to say, or even where to begin as he vaguely listen to Aiba ramble on about how Ninomiya was Matsumoto’s resident arranger, may it be in terms of music or lyrics. That Matsumoto purchased three units here, converted the other two into this studio and let Ninomiya stay on the other. Aiba was apparently staying on the lower floor with his girlfriend.   
  
“I… w-would you know if N-Ninomiya-san is…if he’s… if he’s somehow writing songs in his free time, too?” he stuttered, unsure of why his heart was beating crazily fast in his chest as he said this.  
  
Aiba couldn’t have looked prouder than he was that moment. “Sure,” Aiba said, “But he doesn’t let us see them. Matsujun always nags him to show his works sometimes but he doesn’t want to. I don’t know what his deal is, really.”  
  
Somehow, Ohno knew exactly what Ninomiya’s deal was.   
  
The oddness with which Ninomiya treated him with, the way Ninomiya seemed to have developed some kind of rare, ‘get the fuck away from me’ condition whenever Ohno was within the vicinity. Everything seemed to be pointing towards the fact that Ninomiya was being so careful around Ohno ever since the first time they met, here in the studio, careful not to talk too loud or move too sudden without thinking lest he would give himself away.  
  
But to be honest, doing so only made Ninomiya even more suspicious.   
  
Ohno didn’t realize his fingers have somehow acted without his volition until he had his wallet in hand and he was in the motion of tugging the lyric sheets he was keeping there until Aiba’s voice prompted him out of his temporary daze.  
  
“Ohno-san? Are you okay?”  
  
He wasn’t, that was for sure. But he couldn’t tell Aiba that, could he? Or maybe he could, maybe this was actually the chance he’d been waiting for. It was scary to allow himself this, to expect things to finally come to a conclusion but he couldn’t just leave now without making sure he wasn’t simply imagining things. That every little detail Aiba just told him was pointing to that one person he had spent five long years trying to find.  
  
 _Ninomiya._  
  
All of a sudden, it was as though something just clicked into place in Ohno’s head, blinking the haze that was currently blocking his vision. Somehow, it didn’t surprise him that the moment the haze cleared, he was looking at something even though it wasn’t exactly there.   
  
The lyric sheets. The handwritten words. The letter initials.   
  
After that, he realized he was pulling the lyric sheets out, both of them, spreading them open on top of Matsumoto’s elegant coffee table afterwards. He knew he must be freaking Aiba out now, that  he must look like a man possessed but he couldn’t find it in him to care. Gaze darting to the bottom of both pages, he blinked, once, twice, then gasping when he realized what he was actually looking at. He thumbed at the letter initials printed on both papers, just to reassure himself that he wasn’t imagining it before he was flipping the other one over.  
  
He stared, wide-eyed and stunned at the newly revealed images he saw there.  
  
Of course, Ohno realized it now, the letters weren’t actually overlapping; they never were, as he’d first suspected. They were, in fact, written upside down, and were obviously written connected to the initials M and J.

  
  
Looking closely, Ohno could clearly read it now.   
  
“A-Aiba-san, just one more question,” he grunted, throat too tight he could barely say the words out without forcing them. “C-Can you tell me what Ninomiya-san’s first name is? I’m not sure if Matsumoto-san ever told us what it is.” he asked, ignoring the fact that Aiba was probably looking at him as if he was insane.   
  
And maybe he was; maybe, this was what losing one’s sanity actually felt like.   
  
Aiba looked as though he wanted to say something else but he obviously didn’t know how to. Despite his confusion, Aiba answered, and when he did, Ohno felt as if all the blood in his body had been drained out of him in an instant.  
  
“Kazunari,” Aiba said. “His full name is Ninomiya Kazunari, Ohno-san.”  
  
Ohno’s gaze fell on the lyric sheet spread on top of the table, realized he was gripping it tight enough to tear it. He forced himself to let go, chest heaving hard, unable to form the words as he stared at the letters in awe. He should have known, he really should have but.   
  
But he didn’t, and oh _God._  
  
“O-Ohno-san?”   
  
N K. The letters written connected to the M and J, written upside down, was N and K.  
  
N for Ninomiya. K for Kazunari, Ohno was sure of it.  
  
Ohno closed his eyes and felt his heart dropped.  
  
*+*

He felt entirely like a man on a mission.   
  
He left Aiba in Matsumoto’s office with a curt ‘ _thank you’_ and a hurried ‘ _see you later’_ once he was sure where to find Ninomiya. It seemed like he wasn’t at the studio anymore, since he made Aiba check it himself by requesting Aiba to call the Control Room for him. One of the assistants there answered the telephone and told Aiba that Ninomiya left for a bit to get something from his apartment, some cables or other, the assistant wasn’t sure.   
  
The unit was so close to the studio that it didn’t even take Ohno long to reach it. He was vaguely aware of his phone vibrating in his pocket – it was probably Sho – but he ignored it. What he couldn’t ignore, however, was his own body vibrating in combined anticipation, excitement and something else he couldn’t quite put his fingers on yet but he knew that it had something to do with the person he’d spent years imagining meeting again.   
  
When he reached the front door of Ninomiya’s apartment, however, he could feel all the tension from the past few weeks vibrating under his skin that he could barely keep himself from banging on the door with force that was absolutely unnecessary. He was calling Ninomiya’s name in between each pound of his fist against the door, frustration settling at the pit of his stomach and vaguely considering breaking another person’s property when he absently reached for the knob and turned it.  
  
If Ohno was surprised to find it unlocked, he didn’t dwell on it much. He couldn’t. There were other things he should obviously worry about, like how he was shoving the door wide open and marching his way inside another person’s home and invading it without permission, but  couldn’t.   
  
He was too damn anxious to talk to Ninomiya that the thought of ending up behind bars for trespassing wasn’t enough to stop him.  
  
  
*+*  
  
The silence Ohno was expecting to greet him wasn’t there.  
  
Instead, he was greeted by the sound of another familiar instrumental music playing almost too loudly inside the apartment. It wasn’t the same one he heard from Aiba earlier, but Ohno was certain this one was from the same batch he received.   
  
Ohno walked further, vaguely taking in the sight on his way in. There were the usual stuff found inside a musician’s house and Ohno found himself noting them curiously – the familiar-looking battered red guitar resting on the floor near the couch, lyric sheets occupying the table top, CDs, pens, pencils, an empty coffee mug, an empty water bottle. He frowned when he caught sight of the numerous gaming consoles and cables littering the living room floor, as were the alarming numbers of TV sets placed on every corner. It almost distracted him from listening to the music instrumental still playing much too loudly for Ohno’s ear, and remembering its title and the first few lines vividly when he closed his eyes.  
  
 _“My reflection overlaps in the car window with you who are smiling next to me_  
 _You're this close to my side and yet I can't touch you_  
 _The melody that plays from the stereo now is just sad to me_  
 _I wish I could make you only mine”_  
  
It was that song, the one Ohno remembered - TWO.  
  
An invisible hand closed around his heart it was painful, and Ohno found himself clutching the front of his shirt, fingers rubbing over the spot as if he could somehow ease the pain. He couldn’t, and somehow, he knew that it would take more than his carefully gathered courage to do so but the least he could do was try.  
  
That was when the music suddenly stopped.  
  
“Hmm, excuse me, what –“ he turned to the sound of that voice and found Ninomiya standing there, clutching some cables in his hand. Ohno paid little attention to it as he zeroed in on Ninomiya’s face. “Oh, Ohno-san, it’s you,” Ninomiya said, looking strangely calm for someone who just found a stranger standing in the middle of his living room. Ohno kept looking at him. “Are you lost? I mean, this isn’t the studio, this is actually my –“  
  
“Your apartment, I know,” he said, surprised that he could still come up with proper words despite the way his heart was trying to beat its way out of his chest. It was disconcerting and the feeling worsened the moment Ninomiya carefully and very familiarly averted his gaze from Ohno’s.  
  
It made something in Ohno’s chest ache and a sound close to misery escaped the back of his throat without meaning to.  
  
“Well, if you need anything, I’m sure it’s not here. Shall I escort you back to the studio so you can ask Aiba-san?”  
  
He was striding towards Ninomiya without a word, his footsteps marred with purpose, hands catching Ninomiya by his forearms tight enough to leave bruises and backing him against the couch’s back as the cables Ninomiya had in his hand fell to the floor. He knew he was acting like a man possessed, and probably looking like one too, but he couldn’t help it. Ninomiya looked entirely like a deer caught in headlights at the action; eyes wide and lips parted in shock as Ohno trapped him against the couch with his body. The look on Ninomiya’s face should have been enough to prompt him to back away, but he was too damn scared that if he as much as loosen his hold around Ninomiya, he’d run.   
  
“What I need,” he said, letting each word out with feelings, his fingers tight around Ninomiya’s hips. “Aiba-san won’t be able to give me. He can’t.”  
  
“O-Ohno-san, I don’t –“  
  
“Is _this_ yours?” he asked, not bothering giving Ninomiya any chance to preempt him, his voice dangerously low as he raised the lyric sheet up to Ninomiya’s face with his other hand. He had Ninomiya safely pinned against the couch with his own body, after all, so any move to free himself would be futile, knowing that the pressure he was giving Ninomiya was just enough to prevent Ninomiya from quickly fleeing the first chance he got.   
  
Ninomiya was still as a rock against him, even though his eyes were dark with apprehension but that only urged Ohno on. “Ninomiya-san, I’m asking you, is this yours?” he tried again, his voice tight.   
  
Ninomiya didn’t even bother glancing at the paper, didn’t even gave it the attention it deserved before he was uttering a roughly, “No,” in response. Ohno felt his blood turned to fire under his skin.   
  
Well, he should have anticipated this, shouldn’t he? It wasn’t like he was simply asking Ninomiya for his phone number and even if he was, he was sure it wouldn’t be as damn dramatic as this.   
  
“You’re lying,” he said. Sure Ninomiya could deny it all he wanted but Ohno was done with all this cat-and-mouse chase bullshit. “You’re playing the song that I have received from my anonymous composer just recently, the same exact song even, and the lyric sheets he’d been sending me bear your initials.” He bit out, unnecessarily rough than what he probably intended but he didn’t care; Ninomiya deserved it, after all.  
  
The skin on Ninomiya’s jaw twitched visibly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ninomiya grumbled, trying to scramble out of Ohno’s hold. Ohno didn’t give him a chance. He couldn’t, not now. Chest heaving, he took his wallet out from his pocket, shaking the contents out without bothering looking where they landed, only caring about catching the convenience store receipt he’d been keeping there.   
  
When he raised it to Ninomiya’s face, however, Ninomiya’s expression changed drastically. It was the most heart-breaking thing Ohno had to witness, up-close, and it hurt.   
  
But before Ohno could call him out on it, Ninomiya had his face turned, a move specifically did to guard, to cover every single emotion Ohno knew were currently flitting through his eyes.  
  
“Fine, if you want to play that game,” he said, gruffly. He wanted desperately to shake the fuck out of Ninomiya and it was only by sheer willpower that he hadn’t done so, yet. “You don’t want to admit you’re that composer, fine, let’s pretend you’re not. But for now, let’s talk about this,“ he said, shaking the tiny convenience store receipt to Ninomiya’s face, turning it around and pointing at the handwritten words behind it.   
  
“You remember what this is, right?” he asked, voice trembling something bad. Something that was probably close to desperation. “Well, you should. Because you were the one who wrote this, on the spot, when I asked you to. That night five years ago… in that club I was working at, where we met, you remember?” he said, not really asking but stating it. Ninomiya remained still, lips pursed into a thin line.  
  
He also refused to look at Ohno and Ohno felt his desperation crushing what remained of his desire to make things right.   
  
He found himself leaning forward, hearing the little gasps of surprise leaving Ninomiya’s mouth the second his forehead touched Ninomiya’s cheek, his  other hand worming around the back of Ninomiya’s head. He was at this point where he might even consider begging Ninomiya, but it was hard when it was obvious that Ninomiya was hell bent on keeping his mouth shut as well.   
  
“You won’t admit you wrote this,” he paused, then, “Or the songs, fine,” he started, closing his eyes at the feel of Ninomiya shifting just the tiniest bit against his hold. “But you don’t have to, really. Because I know. You’re hand-writing already gave you away, Ninomiya-san.” he added. Ninomiya remained unmoving, quiet. He treated that as a cue to continue.  
  
“And I’m not going to force you either,” he added, softer this time, against the side of Ninomiya’s neck. There was a little shudder there the moment his lips touched Ninomiya’s skin. “I know you have your reasons but it’d be nice to finally meet the person I spent five long years to find so I could at least thank him properly.”   
  
“Just say thank you and be done with it,” Ninomiya muttered, and Ohno couldn’t help the bubble of laughter floating up to his throat.   
  
“I can’t,” he said, closing his eyes and dropping his face against Ninomiya’s shoulder. “I have so many things to ask him, things to tell him besides _thank you_ ,” he said, “Like why he’s sending me awesome song compositions and preferring to remain anonymous when we both know he shouldn’t. He’s rocking the Japanese music industry with his songs and he doesn’t want anyone to know he’s the brain behind them?”  
  
He was going about this lightly, certainly none of the dramatic things he planned to say but he guessed there was no need for it.  Finding Ninomiya should have been as easy as sitting close to him that night five years ago, but it wasn’t. Still, Ohno believed that things happened with very specific purpose and for him and Ninomiya, it was this.   
  
They went on their separate lives after the night they met, Ohno to his singing career and Ninomiya helping him secretly. It was a partnership neither of them was aware they were sharing, which was the best kind, really, and Ohno had every intention of making it official.   
  
He only needed Ninomiya to say yes.   
  
There was a space of probably two heartbeats before he heard Ninomiya’s answer, soft and low, almost inaudible through the noises his own breath and heart were making.   
  
“Why would you even keep it?” Ninomiya whispered, not at all the answer Ohno was waiting for. Ninomiya wasn’t even answering, he was asking Ohno about the paper he’d kept with him all these years and Ohno knew this was where he was going to bare his heart open, his feelings, but to hell with it.   
  
He kept a hand around the back of Ninomiya’s neck as he struggled to come up with words, the right ones at least, knowing that he might say something stupid and ruined his chance to make things right. He was completely unsure of how to tell Ninomiya he’d only been waiting for him even in the face of such obvious admittance, hoping he was better at putting his thoughts into words like Ninomiya was.  
  
“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked. It wasn’t a question, really, but it was hard to think of anything else. His heart was racing, and it was so damn difficult to come up with something better because he was afraid he would ruin the moment.  
  
“I… you don’t have any reason to. What we had, what we did, it meant nothing. It shouldn’t. We weren’t… we weren’t anything, not to each other, at least.” Ninomiya breathed, and for all its worth, it was everything Ohno needed to hear, and nothing else. “So, you really… you shouldn’t have kept it.” Ninomiya repeated, mostly to himself.  
  
“This is the only memory I have of you,” he confessed. They’ve passed the point where they could have simply sat down and talked about this like normal adults would but he figured nothing about this – about the two of them, was normal – or ordinary to begin with, really. They met in a bar one night, got drunk, hooked up, and went on their separate ways. Just how it should be.   
  
Only they didn’t. Ohno had kept something of Ninomiya even without knowing they’d meet again, and Ninomiya - and this Ohno was certain despite himself, despite the fact that Ninomiya hadn’t admitted it yet – hadn’t exactly disappeared, either.   
  
“I didn’t know how to find you, so I kept this; I promised myself that if I ever meet you again, I’ll show it to you, just to prove to you that I didn’t forget you.” He said. Ninomiya kept quiet.  
  
“But you did, didn’t you?” Ninomiya whispered after a while. “You _forgot_. You didn’t even know it was me until…until now.” Ninomiya mumbled, and it was a confession, an admission, and it made Ohno’s eyes sting. Because it was the truth. He might have not realized it sooner, might not even remember Ninomiya’s face clearly – he was knocked out drunk that night after all – but it didn’t mean he’d forgotten everything. At least not the way this man’s lips perfectly fitted his, or the fact that he’d never been with someone who’d knocked him off his feet at first glance.  
  
“I was drunk,” he explained, shakily, knew that it was the worst alibi he could have possibly come up with but it wasn’t really an alibi if it was true. And on Ohno’s case, it was. He was so drunk then that he could barely remember how the two of them ended up tangled together from head to toe on a bed that belonged to neither of them, but one thing was certain. He had wanted to do it again, at least once he was sober enough to ask Ninomiya’s name but he wasn’t able to.   
  
Ninomiya was gone the next time he opened his eyes, after all.   
  
“But I meant to make it up to you the next morning, get to know you better at least, but you didn’t exactly allow me the luxury. You were gone the next day, you remember?”  
  
Ohno saw the way Ninomiya’s cheeks grew pink and he swore it was the cutest thing, the closest thing to perfection, really. Now, he realized there was a reason Ninomiya had kept to himself, a very big reason why he never let his guard down around Ohno, why he did everything he could to avoid catching Ohno’s eyes.   
  
Because Ninomiya knew Ohno would recognize him easily.   
  
“As far as I know, that’s how one night stands are supposed to go, Ohno-san,” Ninomiya said, softly as he glanced down.   
  
“Not to us, no,” he breathed, taking advantage of the fact that he still had the upper-hand right here. He had Ninomiya safely pinned against the couch, after all, and he had nowhere else to go unless Ohno let him. He reached down for the lyric sheet he allowed to fall on the couch earlier and gestured Ninomiya to look at it.   
  
“This just proves it,” he said, confident enough to keep his gaze on Ninomiya’s face as he spoke. “This and the several other songs I have in my possession. You’ve been with me all this time and I didn’t know it. I am so stupid.” He said. Ninomiya pursed his lips, as if he was having a hard time keeping himself from talking.  
  
Ohno continued. “But you didn’t expect me to have this with me,” he said, holding the receipt up, dangling it in between his fingers, in front of Ninomiya’s face. “The one thing that would make comparing the handwritten words easier, the one thing that would lead me straight to the person I was with that night, the same person who put me where I am right now because of the songs he’d been generously writing for me.”  
  
“It’s not –“  
  
He placed a hand over Ninomiya’s mouth softly, carefully, to stop Ninomiya from further denying Ohno’s claim. But it wasn’t a claim per se, not when all the facts were laid bare for Ohno to see, all of them pointing him to Ninomiya.   
  
“Stop, Ninomiya-san,” he murmured, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Ninomiya’s own before he let go. The gesture was gentle, intimate, but Ohno wouldn’t do it any other way. “I know it’s you, okay? You can deny it all you want but you can’t hide from me, not forever, not even if you try. You just can’t, so stop, okay? Ninomiya-san, just stop.”  
  
“I still haven’t –“   
  
“You don’t have to,” he exhaled in a rush. He backed back a step, just far enough for him to be able to reach up so he could catch Ninomiya’s cheek carefully in his hand. "I don’t need you to; I know it’s difficult, and I probably won’t understand why you seemed hell bent on keeping your identity a secret but I guess I’ll just have to leave you to it. I can’t force you to tell me why you’re doing this, and I won’t. You will when you’re ready, and when that time comes, I’ll be here. Okay?” he said. “I’m just so happy I finally found you, _Kazu_. I’m just so glad, really.”  
  
Ninomiya’s eyes were shaded with something Ohno was going to have a hard time forgetting, feeling his chest constrict at the sight. Regret, hope and something Ohno knew mirrored that of what was probably written on his own. He smiled, hoping Ninomiya could see it too. Then, without warning, Ninomiya’s hand found Ohno’s still plastered against Nino’s jaw, and held him, his hand warm against Ohno’s skin.   
  
“I thought you never would, Oh-chan,” Ninomiya whispered, his voice thick with emotion and Ohno never felt his heart so full until this moment. “It took you too long, so long, I thought I’ll have to keep waiting. I thought you’ll never find me, I was afraid you never would.” Ninomiya breathed, miserable, and Ohno found himself shaking his head as he took Ninomiya’s face in his hand.  
  
Ohno couldn’t find his voice, so he didn’t bother anymore. He didn’t need to, not when he could say everything he hoped to verbalize without talking, as he guided Ninomiya’s face and sealed his mouth over Ninomiya’s lips.   
  
  
*+*  
  
  
It wasn’t much of a struggle, backing them away from the couch so he could sit them properly on it. His hands were on either side of Ninomiya’s hips, guiding him to straddle his lap as they kiss. Ninomiya’s lips are chapped and tasted strongly of coffee, and Ohno found himself eagerly chasing every little traces of it with his tongue. Ninomiya moaned into his mouth and Ohno felt wholly occupied with the task of swallowing every little sound Ninomiya was making, fingers alternating between stroking Ninomiya’s back and pulling him closer to him.   
  
There wasn’t even an ounce of awkwardness between them now. Ohno vaguely realized this as they kiss and touch like the past five years didn’t happen. Ohno found it inexplicably hard not to give in to his body’s demands, catching Ninomiya’s head in between his hands to steady him, kissing him before he was pulling away to look at Ninomiya properly.  
  
What he saw made his breath catch, the expression on Ninomiya’s face as was the moisture gathering at the corners of his eyes.   
  
He smiled, pressing his hand against the side of Ninomiya’s neck to tug him down, this time for a softer, tamer kiss, mindful of the way Ninomiya’s lips parted automatically for him. There was no urgency, and Ohno liked it better like this. Ninomiya’s breath stuttered out in a gasp, into his mouth, when he flicked his tongue out for teasing lick, for a quick taste, tilting his head a little for a better fit. Soon, their kisses grew heated again, passionate in a way Ohno like it, craved it. Ninomiya’s grip on his shoulders tightened, one of his hands moving to Ohno’s hair.   
  
Ohno’s own were branded around Ninomiya’s waist possessively, and it was the closest to perfect Ohno had ever felt in years. They kiss until their lungs hurt, needing air, and Ohno found himself panting harshly against Ninomiya’s cheek as Ninomiya did the same into his hair.   
  
“I want to do something,” he murmured, hesitantly, into Ninomiya’s neck. “A-Are you going to let me?” It was hard enough to keep his hands to himself when Ninomiya was here, willing and pliant beneath his hands. He wanted to take it slow but it was so damn difficult, and the explosion of heat around his thighs begun the moment their lips touch.  
  
He looked down at himself and cursed. “You see, I’m… _shit_ , I-“ he paused and hissed when Ninomiya shifted on his lap, the action making him bump his ass against Ohno’s crotch.   
  
It was pure torture. “ _Hard_ ,” Ninomiya commented blithely, his eyes on the front of Ohno’s pants, to the almost obscene dent tenting the front of his trousers. Ohno felt like he should be offended, but all coherent thoughts marched their way out the window the second Ninomiya reached down and palmed his erection through his pants, his fingers moving with purpose. “ _Jesus Christ.”_  
  
“Yeah,” he said, swallowing his embarrassment forcefully. He titled his head up to catch Ninomiya’s lips, grunting when he got Ninomiya’s chin instead. Ninomiya giggled half-heartedly, and Ohno found it so damn difficult to coordinate when Ninomiya was touching him like this. He wondered how he was able to perform that night, drunk, when he could barely keep his head straight, his hands from shaking, now that he’s sober. “Yeah, _oh God,_ ah.”  
  
Ninomiya’s mouth touched his, scratching his itch for him and it was the best thing, but it was made better when Ninomiya’s tongue joined in the party. Soon he was panting back into Ninomiya’s mouth, hips bucking back to Ninomiya’s palm and the combined torture was tantalizing. He was so lost to the feel and taste of Ninomiya’s kisses that he didn’t realize Ninomiya had upped the ante by slipping his hand inside the waistband of his jeans to touch him properly.  
  
His body jerked upwards, in shock, sensation punching through him like a gunshot, before everything spread like wildfire the second Ninomiya closed his fist around his twitching cock. He was hard within seconds, could barely make out the words, could barely keep himself still as Ninomiya’s other hand worked on undoing his belt and button, sliding his zipper down afterwards.   
  
“Like this?” Ninomiya whispered, his voice thick, breathy. Ohno wanted to drink the sound in, fill his head with it.   
  
“Yes,” he replied, forcing himself to reciprocate the action by reaching between them so he could touch Ninomiya too. He was rewarded with an even breathier gasp the second he wrapped his hand around Ninomiya’s cock through his jeans, tracing the shape of him through the offending fabric. Ohno’s own breath stuttered when Ninomiya all but keened, found himself leaning up to bite at Ninomiya’s chin lightly. “Like this?” he parroted, teasingly, and Ninomiya nodded his head at him, his eyes closed.   
  
“Together?” Ninomiya asked. It wasn’t really a question, but a mere request, and Ohno was more than willing to fulfill it. Soon he had Ninomiya’s pants unzipped, too, his hand around Ninomiya’s dick possessively. They were kissing still, sucking on each other’s tongue, and soon their hands were on each other’s cocks, jerking each other off.   
  
“Yes, oh _God_ –“ Ninomiya keened when he thumbed at the slit; he could barely keep the noises in, could barely form the words as his mind reeled at the memory of himself above Ninomiya, their bodies moving in tandem, Ninomiya’s legs wrapped around his hips as he pounded into the heat of Ninomiya’s body over and over again. “O-Oh-chan, please.”  
  
What wouldn’t he give to have Ninomiya say his name like this, he wouldn’t know, but he guessed he didn’t have to. Ninomiya was here now, warm and real, and calling his name. He leaned up for a quick kiss, batting Ninomiya’s hand away from his cock and squeezing Ninomiya’s dick one last time before he was pushing Ninomiya to the couch on his back. Then, with a quick work on relieving them off their jeans – he pulled his own off in record-breaking time, throwing it on the floor and doing the same to Ninomiya’s own – he was back on top of Ninomiya, their shirts still on, his tongue shoved down Ninomiya’s throat as he lined their bodies together.   
  
“Oh-chan?” Ninomiya whispered, obviously confused when Ohno hovered above him, their cocks touching just barely.  
  
“Shhh,” he hushed, fingering the side of Ninomiya’s jaw tenderly, sliding his touch across the bridge of Ninomiya’s nose, his eyes, the corner of his lips; “Trust me, okay? Okay?” he said, “I just want to feel you.” he said, before he began to move.   
  
*+*  
  
Ninomiya moaned into his mouth, he was obviously close, and Ohno knew he wouldn’t last long either. Ninomiya’s legs were wrapped tightly around his hips, exactly how he remembered it, and Ninomiya’s hands gripping his forearms as they kiss. The sensation was incredible – every goddamn movement made his cock harder than it already was, and with every thrust their cocks lined together, hard and stiff and incredibly wonderful. Ohno couldn’t keep himself from moaning either, gripping Ninomiya’s hips hard enough he knew he’d leave bruises on Ninomiya’s skin afterwards but figured he could apologize for it later.   
  
“ _Fast,”_ Ninomiya hissed, throwing his head back as Ohno attached his mouth to the juncture between Ninomiya’s neck and shoulder, sucking that spot with urgency. “Faster, ah please, _please_!” Ninomiya growled, and Ohno complied, looking down and watching the way he slid his cock alongside Ninomiya’s, groaning low in his throat at the pretty sight.   
  
He jerked his hips and felt both their cocks twitch. It was easier to move now, their navels filled with the sticky evidence of their combined desires. Ohno’s focus was solely on the feel of Ninomiya’s body jerking in time with his, of Ninomiya’s cock jumping in response to each slide of his own cock against Ninomiya’s dick.   
  
“Close, oh _God_ , close –“ Ninomiya whimpered, mouth seeking his and Ohno had to give in, couldn’t not, parting his mouth and granting Ninomiya’s tongue entrance. He was so hard it was borderline painful, working his hips methodically above Ninomiya as Ninomiya’s own met him halfway.   
  
“ _Ahh_!” Ninomiya half-yelled, into his shoulder, shaking as he came, painting his skin with it. Ohno let him ride it out for a moment before he was moving again, chasing his own orgasm to follow the tails of Ninomiya’s own. He groaned when Ninomiya’s hand closed around his cock, tight enough to make him moan. Soon he was fucking Ninomiya’s hand, fingers gripping Ninomiya’s hips hard, dragging himself against Ninomiya’s stomach and hand, unmindful of the way Ninomiya was pressing kisses after kisses across his face, tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip wet.   
  
When he came, it was inside Ninomiya’s hand, with a long, drawn out moan that Ninomiya eagerly swallowed, his movements gradually slowing down as he rode it out. He couldn’t remember the last time it felt so wonderful like this, but he guessed it couldn’t be helped when the last time he actually did was years before, and the only other person who made him experience the same, mind-blowing orgasm was also the person panting heavily beneath him now.  
  
He braced himself on his elbow when his breathing had evened out and he could finally use his brain enough to coordinate himself, and used his other hand to cup Ninomiya’s cheek. “We’re going to have to do it better next time,” he said, only half-joking because he seriously meant every word. He leaned down and kissed Ninomiya’s lips, once, twice, before he pulled away to find Ninomiya’s eyes were on him.   
  
“Very soon.” He repeated, and Ohno knew deep in his heart that it was a promise as much as it was a plea for Nino to stay.  
  
There was a terrifying pause before Ohno felt more than heard Ninomiya’s breath whooshed out on him in a rush, of Ninomiya’s hands around his shoulders, pulling him down over Ninomiya’s body. He settled, warm and sated, and felt Ninomiya’s hand roaming down his back to squeeze at his butt.   
  
“I say we do it sooner,” Ninomiya said, eyes twinkling with barely-concealed mischief. “ _Oh-chan_.” Nino added, squeezing his ass as he did so.  
  
He couldn’t help it, he giggled, loving the sound of his shortened name and kissing Ninomiya again because he could.   
  
  
  
*+*  
  
Matsumoto did a once over between him and Ninomiya – Nino, as what the other man insisted to be called - to their hands tangled together on top of Ohno’s lap and shook his head. Sho, who was sitting to Matsumoto’s right was doing the same, albeit his round, wide eyes. Ohno was convinced he was going to end up making Sho cry in the next coming days, especially now that he was with Ninomiya but he could worry about that later.   
  
“So does this mean I’m going to lose my chief technician because he’s dating an artist now?” Matsumoto asked. Ohno really liked the sound of that. He and Nino dating. It also felt very nice.   
  
“If you do, can I keep him instead?” he asked, curious. To this, Nino ducked his head and buried his face into his shoulder, giggling. Ohno felt very much inclined at digging his nose into Nino’s hair to breathe him in, unmindful of the fact that he was doing it in front of an audience, grateful for it, for this chance to have Nino close. He couldn’t help it, really.  
  
“Stop saying stupid things, Ohno-san,” Nino said, into the fabric of Ohno’s shirt. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going to get the salary I’m getting from Jun-kun, you know? And besides -“  
  
“Of course you can,” he countered; Nino lifted his head from Ohno’s shoulder and looked at him. Matsumoto was looking at him oddly too. “You can even buy your own studio if you want to.” He added, albeit Sho making strangled noises in the background.  
  
“What do you mean?” Nino and Matsumoto asked, simultaneously.  
  
He looked at Sho for confirmation, but Sho seemed to be trying to strangle himself with his own tie. It was kind of worrying but also amusing. But he figured Sho was a grown man and therefore was completely capable of talking himself out of killing himself so he decided to ignore  him.  
  
He took his attention back to Nino, taking both of Nino’s hand in his. He stared at them, loving the contrasting colors of their skin, the way Nino’s small fingers fitted his.   
  
“Well, because you’re several millions richer now?” he said, grinning at Nino’s frown. He really shouldn’t say this now, or at least not in front of an audience but he figured Matsumoto would know about it eventually.   
  
“Explain.” Nino said, lips pursed.   
  
He chuckled and reached over to cup Nino’s chin. “I had my company pay you for each and every song you composed for me; I made the arrangement for the payments to be deposited into an account under my name, which will be transferred to you now that we’ve found you.” he told Nino; he didn’t know if it was right to feel properly glad at the way Nino’s eyes widened in shock but he did and he wasn’t about to deny it.   
  
“Holy crap, Nino.” Matsumoto cursed. “Wow.”  
  
“W-What?” Nino stuttered, ignoring his employer. “What are you talking about?”  
  
He smiled. “That you have enough money to start your own recording studio?” he said. “Well, as of the last album, the total amount in that account is already more than several hundred millions of –“  
  
“ _Stop_ ,” Nino cut in, “Jesus fucking Christ, are you serious?”  
  
“Well, yes,” he said, “You can ask Sho-kun about it if you don’t believe me. He’s the one handling that account, after all. You can ask him. He’ll tell you everything you need to know about it.”  
  
“I’m… I was being paid even if you don’t know you will find me?” Nino asked. “Y-You’ve been…paying me?” Nino repeated, like he couldn’t believe it. Ohno couldn’t blame him.   
  
“Of course,” he said, touching Nino’s cheek, his lips. “You don’t actually think we wouldn’t, right? Of course we would. It’s your songs, so you should be paid for them, seriously.”  
  
“I think I’m going to be sick,” Nino muttered, looking green. Ohno found himself scrambling to stroke Nino’s back as Nino moved to bend over. “ _Holy shit_.” Nino hissed as Ohno pulled him up properly.  
  
He tugged at his and Nino’s joined hands to pull Nino closer, his lips pressed against Nino’s temple.   
  
“It’s just the start,” he whispered and this time, it was just loud enough for Nino; he’d wanted nothing but to give Nino everything, give Nino back what Ohno believe he’s due for what he’d accomplished because of Nino, because of Nino’s song compositions.   
  
“You helped me go where I am, because of your songs,” he paused, worming a hand around the back of Nino’s head to keep him in place as he leaned down to peck the tips of Nino’s nose, completely ignoring the fact that they’re not alone. “Now it is my turn to take you there, if you let me.”  
  
Nino didn’t answer, but Ohno kind of didn’t need him to. They have time to figure things out as they go, together, and Ohno would make sure of it. He just needed Nino to be there with him, every step of the way from here on and they’d be okay.   
  
Somehow, Ohno was sure that they would.

 

 


End file.
